//------------------------------// // Chapter 6: Flock Together // Story: Valor is Magic // by NotSoSubtle //------------------------------// Flock Together Even compared to Cloudsdale’s outer beauty, the depths of the city were an awe inspiring wonder to behold. Long artificial tunnels and corridors in the clouds wove their way through the immense mass of atmospheric vapor. With them, ponies could maintain the vast system of pipes, vents and cables that allowed so many pegasi to live comfortably high above the ground. Countless gauges and valves lined the walls so that an engineer could easily monitor any variable to diagnose and correct problems when they arose. It was a side of the great city that few of the residents fully appreciated: an underworld in the sky as complex in its workings as any living creature’s veins and organs. It was a thrilling new hunting ground. Kaleb had not felt this much excitement since the first solo hunts of his youth, when the homeland of his pride felt fresh and untamed. While most griffins strived to be selected for a ceremonial dragon hunt, they were communal affairs. Only a few would be permitted to fight a dragon at a time, but the others were there as witnesses and were deterrent to retaliation during the flight home. Kaleb had participated in several of the ceremonial hunts, but in his heart the purest way of the hunter would always be to strike out alone, find prey, and take it. Then again, few others had seen a lone griffin slay a dragon. He briefly considered that the experience had spoiled his interest in dragon hunt. Around midnight, he had found several large junctions in the sub-cumulus corridors with a high arcing ceiling. He would hide close to the ceiling, behind one of the pipes that angled upward towards the surface, and wait for prey. Hours later he had captured almost thirty ponies trying to hide from the battle above, in most cases without causing them any injury. The battle was likely winding down by now as fewer and fewer would-be runners were passing his perch, yet there always seemed to be one more. A brown haired, black maned pegasus stallion cowered as he clumsily snuck into the junction beneath the griffin hunter. To his credit he had enough sense to not bolt wildly as so many before him, but his whimpering had warned Kaleb of his coming long before he came into sight. Like the rest of his herd he had a unique image branded on his flank, in this case a deck of cards. Kaleb failed to imagine what purpose they might serve, but he cared little. The ponies likely were following traditions of some kind when they were marked in such ways, and Kaleb would never begrudge a being for following the traditions of their kind. When the pony had entered in junction and had turned his back to the center of the room, Kaleb acted. He wordlessly leapt from the pipe and pounced, pinning the pegasus on the floor and rolling him on his side. The pony panicked, shrieked like a hen chick, and tried to kick his attacker. It was useless; he had no angle. Kaleb quickly began tying his limbs with a length of rope. When the pony finally surrendered to the inevitable, he stopped kicking and began to whimper and tremble, which is about what the griffin had come to expect after a capture. It was a good moment to make introductions. "Listen, pony. I am Kaleb of Pride Tshaka and I claim you as my living prey. Tell me your name." The brown pegasus continued whimpering as he bound the pony’s wings. When the pony didn’t answer Kaleb shook him and roared. "Tell me!" "L-LAN! My name is Lan!” the stallion shouted. “P-p-p-please don't--!" Kaleb clamped the pony's mouth shut with his talons. "Well met, Lan. Know that I bear you no special grudge, but my khan has bid me and mine to hunt pegasi and make captives of them as convenient." Kaleb cocked his head to the right to stare down at the captive pony with his right eye. "I suggest you remain convenient. Will you do so?” Lan nodded while blinking terrified tears from his eyes. Kaleb considered using the last bit of rope he had to muzzle his captive, but hesitated. It was the last length he had, and it could be a while before he could acquire more. He decided leaving the pony free to speak was worth the risk. He hefted the pegasus over his shoulder and tied his bindings to his sash. With his catch secure, Kaleb made his way back through the tunnels to deliver his prize to the keepers. They had not traveled far when the pegasus spoke. “Are you really a griffin?” The griffin rolled his eyes. He knew where this was going. Kaleb said nothing, but silence has never discouraged an inquisitive pony. It was a lesson he would not learn until many more years had passed. “I just ask because, well, I’ve seen griffins before. None of them had ears, let alone pointy ears.” It was true. Kaleb was built lean with grayish feathers and fur. His long tail meandered behind him as he walked, and he wore a hunter’s sash with several throwing knives and bolos, as was traditional for a hunter of his heritage. No matter what badges of honor he carried, Kaleb had come to know that amongst outsiders, even other griffins, his feline ears drew the most attention. Wide at the bottom and coming to an acute point at the top, they flicked left and right to let Kaleb zero in on little sounds that other griffins would miss. Kaleb grunted. “These griffins you have seen, they had white feathers above the neck?” “Yes.” Lan blinked a few times. “Does that matter?” “It does. As there are herds of ponies, so there are prides of griffins. The white-feathered Aquila, of eagle and lion, often soar manly leagues before building a nest. I am Tshaka, of harrier and lynx. We keep to our own lands and our own kind.” “Why is that?” the pony asked with genuine curiosity. Kaleb found the discussion distasteful. Among griffin kind such intrusive questions were offensive. “You would not understand.” “Okay, I guess.” Lan took another look at his captor, sizing him up from ears to paws. “You know, you seem like a nice guy, Kaleb. I don’t picture you as the invading type at all. Are you sure you’re a soldier?” This pony could not take a hint. Kaleb snarled his answer. “Griffins do not train soldiers, we raise warriors. I am neither. Do ponies always ask so many questions?” “Hm,” Lan started to move a hoof to scratch his chin before he remembered he was tied. It didn’t seem to bother him much. “Maybe not all ponies, but a lot of them do. Why?” “It was a rhetorical question,” Kaleb said with an air of finality. “Oh.” Lan fell silent for a while as Kaleb bore his captive through a passageway to the surface of the city, dimly lit by starlight and the setting moon. After hours of battle cries, the clamor of talons and hooves, and the detonation of griffin grenades, the streets of Cloudsdale had grown eerily quiet. The structures that were built from buoyant cloud material were still standing, but all had chunks torn out and scattered in the streets. Most of the windows had been shattered, but the stores were not looted; griffins cared little for material gain. Grenade scorch marks marked places where the pegasi had formed an organized resistance. “Hey, I get it!” Lan exclaimed suddenly, his curiosity running away with his mouth again. “Warriors would have to travel a lot. You probably have a job that lets you stay closer to home. But…wait a minute. If you aren’t a soldi—I mean warrior, and if you don’t like to travel, why are you here?” Kaleb set his jaw. How had this pony been tolerated in a city? The pride mothers would have punished such an incessant, yammering griffin. “My blood-brother asked it.” “You have a brother? I do too! He lives in Windsoar though, so I—” “Pony!” Kaleb roared as he whirled, putting his beak and angry eyes right in Lan’s face. “Your incessant squawking has become irksome! You wonder why Tshaka dislike travel. There are too many questions! Be silent.” Lan trembled for a few minutes after that, but did not speak to Kaleb again. By Khan Cyrus’s order, the weather factory had been spared much of the damage visited on the rest of the city. It was one of the first places the griffins had swarmed, taking as many captives as possible right in the middle of the worker’s shift change. The only obvious differences now were the griffins on patrol and the banners of the Confederacy hanging between its columns. Kaleb knew that some of the rooms inside were a different story, having deemed in advance to be of no interest to the prides. Several of the production stations had been vandalized, but none worse than the rainbow rooms. Great vats of many colors had been turned over. The liquid rainbows flowed out of the building, draining through the clouds below and pooling in a lake far beneath the city. As he approached the building, an Aquila griffin stopped him and asked his purpose. “Take me to Grima,” Kaleb answered. Several doors and corridors later, he was shown to a room where he overhead voices. “Are you certain he will come here?” asked a voice Kaleb did not know. “As I have said, yes! He has delivered all of his captives to me. Unless he is slain, he will return when he finds more.” That would be Grima. The first voice growled, but a third laughed lightly. “Whatever, dude. I have seen him in two duels. Both were short, clean, and totally radical. I’d like to meet the three pegasi it would take to stop Kaleb, because no two could pull it off.” Kaleb nodded to his escort, opened the door and entered with a smile. “Herger, you are making up stories about me again.” Three griffins inside turned to face him, all Aquila. Two of them he knew. The first was Herger, whom he had come to know several years earlier. He and the one Kaleb did not know both wore gauntlets of star metal, badges of honor associated with Khan Cyrus’s personal legion, the Immortals. “Hey, guy!” Herger smiled and approached the hunter, and he and Kaleb happily embraced forearms. “You know I only tell the truth about my bro’s best bud! But hey, I’ve got news for you and we’re kinda in a rush. Me and Orm here have been ordered by the big guy himself to come find you. He wants you at the big council shindig before he arrives.” “Really?” Kaleb asked, surprised. “For what reason?” “Psshah. Like I would know. The big guy says, go, I go.” He laughed again, glancing between the hunter and Grima. “So, ah, can we go?” Kaleb pointed to the trembling pegasus on his back. “I have business first. What news of Canterlot?” “Not in front of ponies,” Grima interrupted with irritation. “My work here is delicate, and you fool warriors barge in and disrupt the atmosphere.” He gestured to the corner, and Kaleb felt his stomach turn in a knot. In the corner, a light green pegasus stallion had been securely bound to a chair facing the far wall. Currently his ears were muffed, so he probably couldn’t make out much of the conversation if he was aware of it at all. In front of him sat a table with four lit candles, flickering gently. Kaleb saw no tools or signs of physical abuse, but for some reason the feathers on the back of his neck stood on end when he saw the simple arrangement. “Now,” the chief interrogator asked, hungrily eyeing Lan while kneading his talons. “What has the famed Tshaka tracker brought me?” Kaleb unhooked his captive from his sash and gently sat him down. “His name is—” “No no no,” Grima interrupted, shaking his head. “Let him tell me.” Kaleb rolled his eyes and backed away from the pony, whose eyes darted fearfully between the four intimidating griffins. Grima began asking him questions, but it took him twice as long to learn even what little Kaleb had gleamed from the pony’s torrent of questions. Eventually Lan said that he had been caught in the cloud tunnels of the city, and Grima’s eyes gleamed. “You know the tunnels?” “I-I work there,” the pony stammered. “Part time, but I like it.” “Really?” Grima asked, intrigued. “Well, I have a special place for you then. I must ask though, I know for a fact that ‘Lan’ is not a proper pony name. Come now, what did your mother call you when you were bad?” “Um…” The pony hesitated. “Lan Doe.” “Excellent, Lan Doe. I am happy to meet you.” He fetched a guard from the hallway. “Put him in cage 2B with the other high-value captives. I will be speaking with this one again later.” Lan whimpered again as the guard lifted him and carried him off. For a moment, he looked pleadingly to Kaleb. The hunter did nothing. It would become a moment that haunted the griffin’s dreams for years to come. Grima turned to Kaleb. “Thank you for that wonderful catch. Sign the roster on your way out, and your name will be credited with his capture. Now I’m sure you all have business at the council fire, as I will be quite busy here. Please see yourselves out.” He smiled wickedly and approached the pony in the corner, removing his earmuffs. “Now then, Canard…shall we begin again?” He asked the stallion casually, leaning against the table with the candles. “Tell me. How many lights do you see?” "There...are," the stallion paused to lick his lips, probably dehydrated. "Four. Lights." Grima frowned. "I don't understand how you can be so mistaken." Herger, Orm and Kaleb quickly left the weather factory. They remained silent for a long while as they walked toward the council fire. Grima’s twisted tastes were enough to disturb some of the most hardened warriors, but his skill and methods were of use to the occupation. The prides would need to know how to maintain the city once the war was over and prisoners released, so they only had so much time to learn as much as possible from them. He would be tolerated, for now. Herger’s spirits, however, never stayed low for long. “So Kaleb, how were the maps my cousin made for you?” he asked with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “They were useful.” Kaleb replied. He still didn’t feel like talking. “Really?” Herger exaggerated raising his eyebrows and elbowed the hunter in the side. “Maybe you should go thank her.” Kaleb frowned. This was not a new topic for Herger. “No.” “Come on, guy!” he exclaimed, disappointed. “Why not? You know she wants it.” “I know no such thing,” said Kaleb, shaking his head. “I am Tshaka. She is Aquila. It is not done. When will you understand?” “Herger will never understand tradition,” Orm spat. “Consider what company he keeps, and that he adds words to traditional dances.” “Rap isn’t going to go away just because some old peckers don’t like it.” It took a moment for the rest of Orm’s words to register. “Hey, what’s wrong with my crowd?” Kaleb jumped on that just before Orm. “They are young, brash, and do not respect the old ways. The brother of a khan should know better and that you speak of pride mothers with such disrespect disturbs me.” Herger laughed, smiling devilishly. “It’s not my fault you two workaholics are too busy to find lady friends. And those chicks I hang with?” He flapped his wings. “They know how to relax.” Kaleb and Orm exchanged disapproving glances. Orm rolled his eyes, and Kaleb sighed. As much as Kaleb loathed to admit it, at least that part of Herger’s lifestyle was attractive to his baser instincts, remnant of days before the prides. The Confederation had ended those barbaric times, bringing order to the chaos that had been their prehistory. It had been a good thing. The mothers set the expectations equally for their pride and appointed khans to represent their will amongst the other prides and nations. Every griffin knew their role and had a means to improve their standing by following the will of the pride, but to stray too far was a perilous risk. The pride mothers of Aquila often allowed some leeway to those who dabbled in arts but Herger would have to be careful or draw more attention than just their disapproving gaze. Finally the trio entered the central park, a wide open space in front of Cloudsdale’s immense city hall. The cloud top here was maintained to be softer and a bit springier than most, such that foals could safely practice flight with their parents. It had made for a perfect beachhead for the griffin assault force and had become their nerve center for the entire city. In the middle of the park, a large bowl had been set up as a fire pit for a great blaze. A loose circle of griffins had formed a short distance around the council fire, and the trio had to elbow their way through the other onlookers to find places where they could see the proceedings. Inside the ring, three griffins of renown stood apart from the crowd. One was yelling at the others, to little effect. “…And do you know what we found? Unicorns! Unicorns in the clouds, defending districts promised to Pride Heirax. Why weren’t we warned about such magic?” demanded Khan Pyrrhus the young, commander of the grenadier legion he had named the Vandals. The Heirax griffin, half falcon and half cougar, strutted angrily around the fire. He was powerfully built even for his kind and likely the largest griffin yet in attendance. Several of the Heirax in the circle cheered his demands. “How could our intelligence be so poor as to miss that very important detail?” Roughly across from him, the elder Khan Tomalak wore the calm poker face smile invented by his kin. “If it had been common place, our informants would have mentioned it. The cousin of Khan Cyrus provided especially detailed information in her descriptions and maps, considering her many years in the city.” Covered in black feathers and fur, the Zinthos pride griffin drew his heritage from raven and panther, and with that heritage came a strong instinct for stealth and a cautious tongue. In spite of being from one of the less numerous prides, Tomalak was one of Ghegis Khan Jochi’s greatest political rivals. For what reason he had consented to join this expedition was still a mystery to Kaleb and many others, but the old griffin’s eyes and mind were keen from battles and many years of representing his pride. “That the other herds have come to walk amongst the clouds must be a new development. Such a great change so quickly disturbs me more than a failure of intelligence. The Canterlot raid was meant to break such a quick response, yet the ponies remained organized.” He turned to the third griffin in their company. “What say you of this, Seer Ragnar?” The last of the trio unsettled Kaleb with his mere presence. Sitting turned away from the fire and looking east, the famed Elder Seer of Pride Strix seemed distracted by concerns somehow greater than the gamble taken by the combined host of the Confederacy. Ragnar pondered while leaning on a great staff carved with many runes. The Strix that descended from owl and snow leopard were the least numerous pride, and even Kaleb found them strange, for all their motions seemed unnatural. “I was surprised,” the seer answered slowly. “Really?” Pyrrhus mocked. “Unicorns have clearly devised yet another way to defy the natural order, and our resident sorcerer was only surprised? I could learn as much from a fortune cookie.” The Strix’s face spun to face the source of the insult. Like his kin, his head moved with precision even though his neck appeared motionless. Fixed in their sockets, his overlarge eyes dilated and focused on the Hierax griffin as he stood. The fire flickered and darkened for a moment, seeming to cower away from the ancient seer. “I have read the stars at the birth of countless scores of griffins, including yours. I can tell you the tides in the seas while sitting in a cave, or the meaning of the buzz of bees. The knowing of things unknowable is my trade and business, and when I say I was surprised a khan should be wise enough to understand the weight of my meaning.” Ragnar’s head spun again so that it face almost completely backwards, totally independent of his body posture, while his eyes searched the surrounding crowd. For a moment they seemed to come to meet Kaleb’s gaze before he looked back to Tomalak. “I have naught more I can accomplish here. Bicker amongst yourselves about nothings if you wish. It matters little.” He spread his wings casually and with a few noiseless flaps, the seer was gone. “That’s it?” Pyrrhus scraped his talons along the cloudtop to vent his anger. “He calls a council, speaks of nothings and departs?” Tomalak sighed and shook his head. “I envy your strength and youth, Khan Pyrrhus, but do not meddle in the ways of seers, for they are subtle and quick to anger.” “Then what good could possibly come from this meeting?” A quiet breeze passed over the council, and Tomalak turned his face skyward. He pointed a talon upward. “You might ask him.” High above a shadow of wings moved against the stars. As it descended, the silhouetted griffin’s immense size became apparent. When he was close enough for the firelight to reach him, the red light reflected brightly from the gauntlets on his talons. At once Kaleb recognized the great griffin, for they had known each other since youth. Khan Cyrus of Pride Aquila, favored son of Genghis Khan Jochi and commander of the Immortals was descending amongst them. He was the strongest khan alive and had proven it by hunting a dragon alone, slaying the beast in front of many witnesses. It was a feat unequaled by any of his contemporaries, and he had done it not once but twice. The pride mothers of Aquila elected him a khan of their pride within a year after his coming of age, common elsewhere but unheard of in the pride that most valued wisdom. Other prides had braced for war as his fame grew, fearing that the might of the Aquila champion would drive him to greater challenges. He had surprised them all. At his birth, the Seer Hrothgar read his stars and prophesied that Cyrus would slay a great darkness and return balance to the world. After his coming of age, when all griffin males are told the stars of his birth, Cyrus made Hrothgar’s words his personal mission. He declared that the warlike divisions between the prides were the source of the imbalance, and sought justice for all even when his own pride was in the wrong. For all his personal strength and might, he had traveled from peak to peak not making war, but proclaiming the virtues of peace among all griffin kind. It is for this reason and what comes after that still today he is remembered as Cyrus the Uniter. Yet the first half of his destiny eluded him, for he had seen no great darkness in the world to slay. His search ended one fateful morning two years ago, when the sun itself was late to rise. Landing near the fire, the massive griffin had to take care not to strike those assembled with his great wings. He turned slowly, absorbing all he saw with detachment. Tomalak sat regally and waited. Pyrrhus still clearly burned with anger but said nothing. The other griffins averted their eyes to his greatness, as was proper for those of lesser stature and renown. When Cyrus’s gaze fell upon one particular griffin, his face brightened and he approached him quickly. “Friend Kaleb! I am glad to see you well. I trust you found good hunting?” Kaleb, kneeling in deep respect for the famed griffin, did not lift his eyes. “I captured many pegasi for my khan.” “Still you persist in formalities, blood brother?” asked Cyrus, shaking his head with mock disappointment. “I shall always persist in observing our traditions, which is both right and just.” The massive Aquila griffin turned his head toward the onlookers without taking his eye from Kaleb. “He answers well! A fine example of griffin love for his pride and country. Wouldn’t you agree, Khan Tomalak?” The elder khan nodded slowly, a warm smile on his beak and his eye twinkling with suspicion. “I would indeed.” Cyrus smiled, again facing Kaleb. “I have something for you, friend.” He reached down and untied a burlap sack from his sash and pressed it at him. Kaleb cocked his head to the side, confused. Gift giving was almost never done socially between griffins; it carried the weight of perceived debt. Still, he took the sack and opened it. He gasped as he removed the objects of gleaming metal within. In his talons he held the instrument of Cyrus’s Immortals, a matching pair of gauntlets forged from metal of stars, fallen to earth and affixed with gems taken from the depths of the great mountain Gryphus. Griffins despised armor and weapons of close combat, but the gauntlets had been approved by the pride mothers of Aquila for one very important reason: The properties of the star metal and gems used could disrupt and drain magic on contact. Griffins had long been at a disadvantage when facing unicorn ponies and other magical races in combat. The gauntlets closed that gap. The wearer need merely touch energy or spell with the tip of his talon to damage the construct. Striking an energy shield even once would often shatter it entirely. Kaleb could only gape. In all the prides, scant more than a hundred pairs of these yet existed. The Immortals had laid claim to all but a few of them and guarded the ones they controlled fiercely. Yet here Cyrus was giving a pair of their valued tools of war to a hunter of another pride. The khan spoke to the hunter barely above a whisper. “Many of my Immortals fell at Canterlot tonight. These were worn by my brother Aun, who fell protecting my blind side during a great duel. He thought highly of you, and would rest well on the winds knowing you wore them in his memory.” Now the towering griffin khan leaned back and projected his voice for many to hear. “You are a talented hunter of your pride, perhaps the greatest of your generation. Your skill in tracking is unmatched, and I have personally known you to hear a sleeping rabbit at 50 yards. More than all of this, I trust you with my life, for you and you alone once saved me from certain death. “Kaleb of Tshaka, my blood brother and friend! I ask you to join the Immortals. In the coming days I will have need of your skill by my side, but the gauntlets are yours no matter your answer.” Murmurs rippled through the crowd, but none were as surprised as Kaleb, who shook with shock and gratitude. What Cyrus was asking was almost unofficial treason. There was no law against having different bloodlines in a legion, but it simply wasn’t done; certainly not by an Aquila khan with so much status to lose. It took a moment for Kaleb to compose his thoughts, but then he spoke with conviction. “My khan…my friend honors me. He speaks well of me in front of the greatest host of our kind I have ever witnessed, and tells them my name.” Kaleb raised the gauntlets to the air for all to see. “He offers me gifts unmatched, bequeathed from fallen members of his own family. Who am I to reject him, a mere hunter?” Kaleb put the gauntlets on, and snapped them around his forearms. They felt natural as he flexed his talons in them for the first time. “It will be as you say.” Cyrus was so overjoyed he embraced the comparatively tiny Tshaka griffin, much to the continuing shock of onlookers. Considering the khan had just shattered griffin military tradition, the embrace was a small matter. Still, Cyrus had not risen to his level on the credit of bloodline alone and he used the continued silence to his advantage. He turned and addressed the gathered host. “I see many honored griffins have assembled, as is right. There is much to discuss. Understandably there is much apprehension. Tonight I have lost friends and family in battle with pony kind, as have you all.” He looked directly to Pyrrhus and smiled. “Many believed that they were weak and could be swept aside without contest. While we all hoped for a quick victory, we prepared to face a noble adversary. And lo! The ponies were not as frail as they seemed, but for all their valiant efforts they could barely slow our advance. It is so and will remain, because the ponies contend with a force unlike any the world has known.” Cyrus reared on his back legs and balanced flawlessly, doubling his already considerable height. “It is a new age! The griffin prides have not moved as one in over one thousand years, and even then never in such numbers.” Fire of triumph in his eyes, he turned to face southward toward the pony capital and pointed his talon in a sweeping gesture over the entire city below them. “Look at what we have done, at what you have done tonight! Today we are not separated by trivial border disputes or petty feuds, but instead we are one nation! Towns and cities fall before our might, their citizens made captive. Canterlot, the shining jewel of pony civilization is colored dark by its own ashes. Here we stand in the very heart of the sacred pegasus city, the much vaunted Cloudsdale. “And this…” He roared, raising his right clutch to the sky, flexing his steel-covered talons. The moonlight showed them tarnished, stained red from combat. “This is the blood of an ALICORN!” An awed hush fell over all who heard the words of Khan Cyrus, dragon slayer and prophesied savior of griffin kind. He allowed himself to gracefully fall forward, coming to rest when his left clutch touched the cloud floor. “That’s right. Remember why we are here. We are not motivated by lands, territories, or wealth. The little ponies are not our enemy. We do not hate them, for they are deceived: Lied to by an ancient evil that has already twice sought to unmake the balance of nature, and reassured by her weak, complacent sister. Do you not remember the day with no morning? Have you forgotten the confession of the Harbinger of Chaos, that he was released by her hoof?" Growing enraged with the thought of such things, his words became angry. “Celestia willfully ignores the peril right before her eyes! One thousand years ago she stood over the traitor and had not the strength of character to do what was needed. She has forgotten her promise to our ancestors, who believed the enemy vanquished, that the threat of eternal night was ended for all time. Even now the Usurper of Light is hailed as royalty in their cities, biding her time until she can move freely once again. While the Sun Princess sits idle, the Blade of Damocles hangs over the world. “No longer! At Stalliongrad their nation is cut in two. Griffins soar free in the skies of western Equestria. When the cannon shatters the Shieldbearer’s magic, the Nightbringer will have no stronghold to hide behind. Then balance will be restored…” Cyrus raised both his gauntlets to the night sky and roared. “I will slay Nightmare Moon!” While the griffin host cheered their champion’s words, Kaleb felt an unnatural stillness wash over him. He had felt it before. His father had been a seer of the Tshaka pride, and had known many magics. Even equipped with experience, it was still unnerving. Herger and Orm did not notice as they cheered with the others. “Is it not breathtaking?” The voice of Ragnar echoed in the air behind Kaleb as if the elder Strix were speaking through a metal tube. “We are seeing much that has not happened in the world in an age, with so much more to come. Tomorrow morn, a thing will come to pass that has never been in all the annals of time. But even amongst this host you are spoiled for the pleasure, Kaleb son of Hrothgar, who has seen many dragons fall. Yet beware, for not all is as it seems.” “Seer’s tricks and riddles carry no weight with me, Ragnar,” Kaleb growled without turning. “I am familiar with this sorcery through my father’s poor attempts at parenting. Do not speak his name to me.” “I must, if for no other reason than he fathered you. He did not know all of what would become of his first hatched, but who could know that you would come to this path?” Kaleb could hear Ragnar’s grin. “This I see: Many will do great deeds in these days, but when all here are dust on the wind it will be your words by which they are remembered. They will call you Kaleb the Teller of Stories, for more than any griffin now living you are fated to die quietly in a nest, a victim of mere time.” “What curse is this?!” He spun, but where he expected to see the Strix there was only a gap in the crowd. He looked around, but the seer was nowhere to be found. Herger gave him a confused look. Kaleb shrugged, tried not to think about it for now, and joined Herger in the exultation of their khan.